Plumbers' Academy
by Random Access Misery
Summary: The Plumbers' Academy, where hopefuls from across the universe come to become like their heroes! Only the brightest and the best can make it! Rom is one of these hopefuls, finally accepted to the new branch of the Academy even as a new threat emerges from the shadows. Ongoing. Updates... whenever.
1. Manifest Destiny

Rom was extremely excited. He could barely hold still. He had to resist the urge to start dancing, which would definitely attract unwanted gazes from the other commuters at the spaceport. Also, dancing would be awkward with the toolbox in his hand.

Blatant displays of emotion were uncommon among Galvanic Mechamorphs. Frowned on, actually. It was a trait passed down from their creators, the Galvans. As a people, the Mechamorphs tried to emulate their makers, tried to please them by acting as haughty and indifferent as them. It was a useless façade; there was a reason Azmuth, the most intelligent of all the Galvans, had confined Rom's people to a tiny moon orbiting Galvan Prime and named it _Galvan B._ Slapping a B on the end when their planet had a cool title like "Prime" was pretty apathetic. But Rom wasn't exactly a normal Mechamorph, and his personal creators were hardly normal Galvans. Rom would have been more self-conscious on any other day, but not today.

The teenage boy took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He didn't want the other students thinking that he was childish. He was actually quite mature for his age. Just a little bit volatile, that was all. Part of his nervousness stemmed from the fact that Rom had never been off-planet, or off-moon, as it were. The other part was the fact that he'd get to see his creators—he called them his uncles—for the first time in ages.

The Academy was new. Only a few years old, at this point. Rom himself wasn't sure why they'd started another one up. He was _glad_ that they had, of course. He'd applied right away as soon as he found out about it. A chance to get away from this crummy scrapheap? Please. And the Plumbers! But he'd been rejected the first time. And the second time. And the third time. And the fourth time. Like they said… fifth time's the charm.

The spacecraft he would board to his new future was touching down. Rom stood well back until it had powered down its engines, then rushed forward to board the ship and meet his new allies. An access panel started to fold away as Rom waited expectantly.

Everyone knew who the Plumbers were. Adventurers… champions… super-soldiers of fortune. Collectively, the organization had saved countless worlds. Individuals belonging to the Plumbers, and associated with them, had saved entire universes! Like the legendary Ben 10…

Rom had actually met Ben. Sort of. Not really. But the fabled hero _had_ saved his life when Malware attacked his city. Rom would have been absorbed or crushed beneath falling rubble – that's permanent death for most lifeforms – if not for Ben's timely intervention. So Rom felt he needed to pay the Plumbers back, somehow. This Academy was the best way to go about it.

Plus, his uncles were Plumbers too.

"Uncle Blukic! Uncle Driba!"

The other teens waiting on the platform glanced down at the two scientists. "Blukic and Driba have a nephew?"

"More importantly, they have a _smart_ nephew?" a small, weevil-like alien with yellow chitin, beady black eyes, four spindly legs, and two horns branching out from a central shaft on his head – almost certainly a Cogopilian – snickered. Rom knew all about the species in the Omnitrix, a mutagenic device with a faster-than-light uplink to the greatest genetic archive in the universe, through the many textbooks he'd read on Azmuth, Ben, Professor Paradox, and all the other legendary heroes. He'd had a lot of time for reading, living alone.

Blukic scratched at his rear, the greyish corduroy overalls hanging loosely off his thin shoulders making a weird noise. Rom hoped it was the overalls. Gears and split pins jangled around inside the single pocket centered on the front, below which he wore his Plumber's Badge. "We're not related," he said in his gravelly voice, adjusting his baseball cap. Well, gravelly for a Galvan. They were all sort of squeaky.

Max Tennyson – _the_ Max Tennyson! – emerged from the shadows, looking from the small grey men to the black-and-orange humanoid. Magister Tennyson was a pilot, a fighter, and a captain from the old days, but Rom never would've expected him to grace a mere military transport ship with his presence. Especially not with how old he was. The Magister's faded short-cropped hair was starting to thin, and there were more lines in the man's face than in a cartoon character. For such a prominent figure, he wore surprisingly mundane clothes; a pastel flower-print shirt and plain blue jeans. "Never would have guessed."

"Yeah, there's a strong resemblance!" Driba exclaimed. Where Blukic had an almost triangular head atop a long, skinny neck, Driba had no neck and a lumpy head, looking not entirely unlike a potato with arms and legs. He wore a standard, albeit tiny, Plumber's uniform, white plate armor with black undergarments and his badge over his heart. "Confuses a lot of people!"

A red-skinned Tetramand girl with full black lips and regal, pretty features standing behind them harrumphed, all four of her muscular arms folded across her chest, as her Cogopilian acquaintance continued to snicker. Rom dropped his toolbox at the top of the ramp and gathered his uncles up in a big hug… which must have seemed positively enormous to the tiny Galvans.

"How ya doin', kiddo?" Blukic grunted.

"Getting better!"

Driba squirmed beneath his grasp. "Good to hear. Now, as much as I like you, Rom, I like being able to _breathe_ just as much, if not more. So if you could ease up…"

Rom dropped them with a start. "Oh, right! Sorry, sorry, sorry." He wrung his hands helplessly as the two of them groaned. "Sorry."

Blukic rubbed his head. "It's all right. You haven't been around Galvans much, but that's something that's gonna have to change from here on out. You'll get to spend more time with us, I reckon." He winked, and Rom beamed. Literally: the lines of light running across his body shone more brightly.

"Okay, Rom," Magister Tennyson said. "Welcome to the Manifest." The older man swept his arm in the direction of the bulky spacecraft. A hundred and twenty meters of super-lightweight alloy and carbon nanotube glistened in the waning eventide glow. "You can catch up with Blukic and Driba once you've settled in. Anyone want Rom in their room?"

The Tetramand raised a hand with a bold smirk.

"You think I don't know your tricks by now, Sula?" Max said sternly. "Sorry, no. You'll have to wait to browbeat the newcomer until later."

Her smile faded.

"Anyone else?"

Rom shifted uncomfortably as no one else volunteered. Apparently, the only person who wanted to be in proximity to him had unscrupulous motives. His ectoplasm started to droop.

"Oh, honestly," Magister Tennyson clucked. "You guys act like it's some monumental decision. You'll only be roommates until we arrive at the Academy."

A boy with beige skin and eyes all over his arms and chest stepped forward, his head having only a mouth and two fin-like ears. "He can bunk with us, I guess," the Opticoid said with fake indifference. Who was he putting on a show for? Rom would need to figure out the hierarchy of the group quickly if he was to find a place among them. He didn't want to be a pariah again. He'd certainly had enough of that treatment on Galvan B.

The Cogopilian snorted. "Ayy, Wardell. You're lucky Irk slept in today, or you'd be in for another scolding."

"Oh, I'm sure I'm in for a scolding no matter what I do." Wardell shrugged.

Magister Tennyson snapped his fingers and gestured for the cadets to follow him into the bowels of the Manifest. The halls were crawling with fully-fledged Plumbers. Rom could see several humans, dozens of species he couldn't identify, and was that a Spheroid? The large, green, blowfish-like reptilian alien certainly looked like one, with his mouth full of sharp teeth and a body that was all head, but Rom had never heard of a Spheroid Plumber before. Maybe he just hadn't read enough data files. A frightening thought.

"Don't forget that you guys are still on-duty," the Magister said. "Rom, since you're an engineer, you'll be doing general maintenance. Speaking of which… I hear you don't like using your Mechamorph abilities."

If Rom had had a face, he'd have started blushing. "It's not that, per se… I would rather succeed because I'm genuinely talented, not because I'm taking shortcuts."

Max nodded at him. He nodded at him! "Commendable. But remember, part of being a Plumber is learning how to use your unique talents – powers included – to the maximum of their potential. If you have an advantage over your opponents… use it."

Driba cleared his throat. "You have to understand, Magister Tennyson; on Galvan B, Rom was surrounded by people with the exact same abilities as him."

"That's true of every species," Blukic replied.

"No it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

Driba glared at Blukic with froggy eyes. "No it isn't!"

"Is too."

"Is not!"

Rom laughed as his uncles bickered vehemently. Magister Tennyson and the other aliens just sighed. They were deeper within the Manifest now, with no portholes to the outside in sight. Most of them continued on to the bridge, but Wardell stopped Rom by a sliding door with a keypad.

"See you around, eye guy," the Cogopilian chirped as they walked away.

Wardell groaned good-naturedly, then raised a finger to his lip as the door opened. "Quiet. Irk is napping and I'd rather keep it that way."

The two of them tiptoed in. There were four beds in each corner, a long desk, and a wheelchair sitting next to it. Two of the beds were immaculately made; the others were messy. Occupying one of said shambles was a large, tiger-like humanoid, who was snoring loudly. He had piebald saffron fur with black stripes, a white muzzle, four-fingered hands, and brows that jutted out over his eyes.

"Appoplexian," Rom said, awed and a bit nervous.

"Shh!"

"Sorry. Does the chair belong to him?"

Wardell noticed the wheelchair. His eyes widened with concern. "No… that's Aurelian's. He can't get anywhere without it. We'd better go find him." The Opticoid boy went over and grabbed the device by its wheels. It let out a tiny squeak, which was probably why Wardell was trying to lift it rather than just rolling it out. "Come help me with this," he hissed. "Quietly."

Rom moved to where Wardell was waiting and crouched, hoisting the wheelchair by its carriage while his new roommate held the other side. The two of them turned until Rom was facing the exit.

"Hold on. Let me get the door."

Wardell reached out with one hand and pressed it against the sensor. The door slid open with a whoosh and a click. Rom winced at the sound, but Irk just muttered in his sleep and rolled over. The two of them skulked out and waited for the door to close again before Wardell set the wheelchair on the steel floor.

"Let's see. If I were Aurelian right now, where would I be stuck?" Wardell muttered, setting the wheelchair down before leaning against the wall. "It'd have to be someplace where I can't call for help or crawl away. Knowing _her_ , he's probably tangled up somewhere… Okay, I've got an idea of where to look." He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and walked off, motioning for Rom to follow.

"So how'd he end up without his wheelchair?" Rom asked.

The Opticoid teenager sighed. "Sula's a big bully. She picks on just about everyone, except for the other girls. She leaves Irk alone, too, for whatever reason."

"Probably because he's an Appoplexian."

"Nah, Tetramands are more than a match for Appoplexians. Anyway, she often takes Aurelian's wheelchair away and leaves him stranded in some remote corner of the ship. Really gets a kick out of it, I guess. No clue what goes on inside her head."

A thick-chested Plumber with crystalline features walked up to them and clapped a hand to Wardell's shoulder. "Speedy go missing again?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Poor kid. Ever since he lost the use of his legs in that accident… I always feel bad for him. Well, best of luck to you."

Rom watched the man depart. To him, it seemed incredibly insensitive to call a handicapped person 'Speedy'. Of course, the cultural gap was something to keep in mind. He'd only read about the names and abilities of some of the many races, not about the cultural values. "Accident?"

"Bunch of villains attacked his hometown. Don't know why. He was helping his friends and family evacuate – that's part of the reason he was accepted to the Academy. Selfless courage. But… he was in one of the buildings when the bad guys dropped the roof on him. Caught him by surprise, crushing his legs."

Wardell opened the door to a room filled with energy conduits hanging from the ceiling and trailing into the walls; thick, corrugated tubes interspersed with wiring. The two of them looked around, but there weren't any other people in sight.

"Aurelian?" Wardell called out. "You there?"

"Up here," a miserable voice reverberated. Rom and Wardell looked up. Wrapped up in the wires above them was a blue-skinned boy with sharp features, white eyes, thin black lips, wheels for feet, and a long, thin tail.

"Hold on, buddy. I'll get you down, and then you can say hello to the new kid." Wardell wrapped his arms around a conduit and began shimmying up.

"Wait," Rom whispered. "He's a _Kineceleran_?"

"Yup." Wardell grabbed ahold of the lowest-hanging wire and pulled himself up. He then swung from wire to wire until he'd reached the tangled mess that held RLEN captive – the universally impatient Kinecelerans always used letters and numbers for shorthand – where he began working apart the cables. Once the boy's arms were free, he started helping. Less than thirty ticks of the clock later, Wardell jumped to the floor with RLEN in his arms. Rom felt a double dose of sympathy now that he knew the boy's species. To go from lightning speed to a wheelchair… it must have been _awful_.

"Thanks Wardell," RLEN said cheerfully as the Opticoid helped him into his chair.

"Always, man."

RLEN wheeled himself out of the room, the other two following close behind. By Rom's estimate, they were near the heart of the Manifest. It had taken them around a dozen minutes to get there from their room. The trip back was rather uneventful, with none of the older Plumbers approaching them. Everyone minded their own business.

"What's there to do on the ship?" Rom asked.

"There's a gym… a cafeteria… not a huge diversity, really. We mostly just talk and play ball when we're not helping out."

"Why are you guys here? You're not new students."

Wardell shook his head. "We were visiting family during the break. Those of us who still have family get to meet some of the fresh batch early."

The three of them reached their room, Wardell holding a finger to his lips for RLEN, and the three of them sneaked in. Wardell froze when he saw that Irk had transitioned from the bed to the desk. The Appoplexian was still asleep, but Wardell held his arms out and backed away.

"What's the deal?" Rom asked obliviously. "He's still knocked out cold."

"He moved, which means he's restless," Wardell hissed, "which means–"

Irk's eyes flew open.

"Ah, heck."

The Appoplexian was on his feet in a flash, whirling to face them. "Irk does not appreciate it when Irk's classmates talk about him behind his back!"

"Don't talk in the third person, Irk. It's creepy."

Irk noticed Rom. "New kid!"

"Er. Hi. I'm Rom. I'm a mechanic."

"Let me tell you something, you over-glorified inflatable trick-or-treat decoration! Irk is like a can of Silly Putty someone put in the microwave and forgot about! When you mess with Irk, you mess with a supernova on steroids!"

Rom stared at him blankly. "…Silly Putty?"

"Bah!" Irk lunged for him, but Wardell placed himself between them.

"Calm down, Metaphor Man. Remember Magister Hulka."

Irk stopped growling and took several deep breaths. "Irk apologizes for his uncalled for behavior!" he barked.

"First person, man. First person."

The floor beneath them started rumbling. It didn't last long, but it was fierce.

"What in the worlds was that?" RLEN muttered.

The speaker on the wall crackled to life and Magister Tennyson's voice emanated from the perforated metal disk. "Wardell, Irk. Take your roommates to investigate the portside hall. One of the power relays has been damaged. Good time for Rom to test the waters."

Wardell sighed with resignation and headed out. Irk bashed his head on the door, which had started sliding shut before he'd gotten out. He started growling again.

"Let me tell you something, inanimate sheet of metal with no control over its actions! You do that every time Irk leaves the room, and Irk has had it up to here with your tomfoolery!"

Rom walked up to the door and looked at it with interest. "You say every time?"

"This is the four-hundred-twelfth instance, but who's counting!?"

Thinking back to what Max had said, Rom pinched off a blob of himself and sent it into the mechanism. There was, in fact, something wrong with the door. One of the pressure-sensitive triggers wasn't completely flush with its socket. He pushed it back into alignment and tried opening the door again. This time it didn't click.

"Fixed it." Rom swaggered away, humming to himself. Magister Tennyson had been right. Plus, it felt pretty good to be special. The others gave him a curious look before they, too, headed to the portside hall.

[-]

Rom was starting to feel uneasy. His classmates were around the corner standing watch, at his request. The power relay wasn't damaged at all… instead, it had been completely removed from its couplings. The nearby systems were out of order as well. That wasn't something that could just happen naturally; if it could, there would be frequent losses of power to the camera feeds. The way the ship had shaken could explain it… Had they passed near a gravity well? _I suppose it doesn't matter. Magister Tennyson would have told us if something was wrong._ He started restoring the faulty wires.

"Freeze," a breathy voice called out behind him. "Or we shoot to kill."

Rom jumped and whirled around. A large man with green skin and facial tentacles was pointing a gun at him, while his Pyronite companion cooked up a fireball. Standing behind the Chimera Sui Generis was a white, humanoid moth. Clouds of ice crystals appeared when he breathed. Rom started sweating – well, oiling, the Mechamorph equivalent, at any rate – and stepped away from the panel.

"Hey man," Rom stuttered. "I'm just the engineer. Let me just finish fixing this, and then I'll do whatever you want."

"No."

"It's kind of important."

Mr. Ice Guy glared at him, but the Pyronite lowered his hands. "I don't see why not. It's not like he can do anything to stop us from getting what we came for."

"Fine," Mr. Ice Guy sighed. "Do it quickly." The Sui Generis walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm, pressing his weapon against the boy's torso.

 _I need to alert the bridge._ Rom pushed the capsule back into place. _Com system?_

"You have three seconds before we kill you. Three."

 _They'd see me trying to send a message. Use the energy relay to send a message in binary?_

"Two."

 _Too slow. Looks like I have no other choice._

"One."

With nothing to lose, Rom did the thing he hated most. Cringing, he plunged into the system, becoming one with the mechanism. The Sui Generis grabbed him, but Rom slipped through the brute's fingers like a liquid, leaving the man clutching his uniform. Of course, he couldn't fill the entire Manifest, only a miniscule portion of it at a time, but by changing which portion that was from one second to the next, Rom could ride along straight to the bridge, moving through the wires nearly as fast as the electrons flowing through them – flowing through _him_ now as well. It would be easy to lose oneself in here, a literal ghost in the machine. Many Mechamorphs eventually did lose themselves, becoming one with the landscape on Galvan B. It was a fate he feared more than anything.

Marvin was sipping a cup of stale soda as he monitored the star field. Suddenly, an entire _person_ emerged from his console. The human technician fell out of his seat as Rom reformed in a crouch, looking around frantically. His eye widened with relief when he saw the older man staring out one of the monitors.

"Magister Tennyson!" he shouted. "Intruders near the broken relay!"

Max scowled. "Intruders? How'd they get on board?"

"I don't know! But they're there, I promise!"

"Well, I believe you. I can't think of any reason you'd lie about something like this."

Magister Tennyson sent the alert out, ordering his men to neutralize the threat. Soon enough, they radioed in that there were, indeed, intruders. He walked over to Rom and patted him on the back. He patted Rom on the back! Rom wanted to squeal with joy.

"I'm proud of you. You used your abilities when the time called for it, even though you didn't want to."

Consequently, Rom did the only natural thing to do when a childhood idol praises a perfectly normal, fully-functioning member of society. He fainted.

[-]

"So, Ignis… Rime tells me you've failed once again." The man in the shadows clenched his fist. "And I have tolerated many of your failures."

The three lackeys were standing in front of their leader's throne. Ignis shivered even though his entire body was wreathed with flame. This was an incredibly dangerous confrontation. All confrontations with their leader were. "It won't happen again. I'll succeed next time." They _would_ have retrieved the target successfully if he'd just let Rime kill that kid. Stupid. Very stupid.

"Yes," the man mused. A hand disappeared into the gloom, presumably stroking his chin. "You might." The hand reappeared, pointing at him with an open palm as if reaching out. Rime and the Sui Generis flinched. "But you say that every time you fail. As I said… I have tolerated many of your failures."

The Pyronite began screaming as his energy was painfully stripped away, torn from his body against his will. The hooded man seemed to suck it up, breathing in hungrily as it disappeared into his body. Shadows were replaced with blinding light. Soon, all the fire was stripped away from Ignis, leaving only a burned-out husk on the floor.

"And I do not tolerate failure."


	2. Planetfall

The Mothman had been a Necrofriggian, it turned out. Magister Tennyson wasn't sure why those three had been working together, or what they were after – at least, that's what he told Rom and the other cadets. There was something a bit off about his exposition. Rom didn't want to think about it. Every possibility he could come up with only led to more unanswerable questions, a fractal paradox. The Plumbers had good reasons for keeping the secrets they kept; in time, those secrets would be passed on to him. Until then, thinking about it was just a headache waiting to happen.

He didn't have much to do. There was a gym, yes, but Rom wasn't much for working out. He didn't have the requisite dedication to physical perfection, and even if he did, Mechamorphs didn't actually have musculature.

"Baby, this gorgeous physique is all natural," he muttered, flexing his nonexistent biceps. The older Plumbers had rounded up all the cadets to prepare them for planetary reentry; they were picking up another new kid.

"Wardell, he's talking to himself again!" The Cogopilian squirmed in the seat next to Rom's. They hadn't been allowed to choose their placement, since each seat was designed specifically for its occupant by Blukic and Driba. The inner machinations of their minds were an enigma.

"You know, Bucky, I hear that talking to oneself is a sign of intelligence. Must mean he's smarter than you."

"Hey!"

On Rom's other side was a Lenopan girl with pretty features and gorgeous purple eyes named Jubilee. She hadn't revealed her surname, if any, and didn't speak much.

"Uh," he said, nervous around attractive people. "Hey. I'm Rom.

"Jubilee," the girl said, purple lips curving upwards. "Nice to meet you.

Rom gulped. His surge protectors didn't seem to be working at 100% efficiency. "Nice… nice to meet you, too. What… what family have you been visiting?"

The other cadets gave Magister Tennyson nervous glances. Before she had a chance to reply, the Manifest started shaking, and loud hammering filled their ears, as if there were a Way Bad outside the spacecraft banging away with its fists. And then, the g-forces hit them. The Manifest was colloquially referred to as a 'headbanger' due to the unusual way it deorbited.

Most modern spacecraft reentered a planet's gravitational pull the same way they entered it – right-side up – but that method put a strain on its occupants. Blood rushing to the head, combined with a subject experiencing G's they weren't used to, could result in serious discomfort if not death. Even spacecraft with artificial gravity were not immune to the basic laws of thermodynamics, namely the second.

So, to circumvent the issue, some spacecraft deorbited upside-down, literally banging its 'head' on the atmosphere. That way, gravitic forces pushed a person down in their seats, so subjects experienced the same conditions as those during launch. Conditions they were trained to survive.

Rom himself had no blood. He didn't have to worry about being hurt by launch and reentry, but it wasn't comfortable. The g-forces compressed his ectoplasm, forcing his body into the chair. The other cadets probably would have laughed at the way he flattened out were they not also experiencing the immense pressure. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. They had arrived.

Soon thereafter, Magister Tennyson came into the room. "Listen up, cadets. This is dangerous territory we're in, so stay on your toes. As far as this kid's profile, it's the standard 'wants to get away and make a real difference' story… but some factions on this planet would rather kill him than let him become any more impure, so consider it an escort mission as well."

"Um, sorry," Rom said, raising a finger. "Kill? Impure? Just what planet are we on, exactly?"

Max folded his arms across his chest. "Augstaka. Home of the Atasian… formerly known as the Highbreed."

This time, it was Bucky who fainted.

[-]

Their journey through the streets was uneasy. Atasian glared at them from every walkway and corner, as if the ban on non-Highbreed still lingered. Most the citizens, however, were cordial and polite, cognizant of their equal status as sentients and willing to overlook past transgressions.

The city itself was clean and futuristic. Lustrous cobalt spires reached toward the vibrant magenta sky. Ironic – when the Atasian were focused on being the highest, their city had been a crumbling wasteland. Now it was a gleaming metropolis.

"Galigai, capital of Augstaka. Population in the low millions," Bucky clicked. "Since the hybridization wave, it has increased at an average rate of 4.8% per year. See? I'm smart, innit."

Jubilee snorted.

"I am!"

Rom was carrying a standard issue blaster rifle. It was redundant, since he could shoot forth lasers from his eye, but rule one of computer systems: no such thing as too many layers of redundancy. RLEN, Sula, and Jubilee were packing heat as well. The rest had no need.

Magister Tennyson led them to a small, pristine building near the heart of the city, knocking at the entrance. As they waited for someone to answer, Rom got the feeling they were being watched – and not in the passive way the people on the streets had stared at them. His hunch was corroborated by Wardell.

"Sniper on the rooftop. Hostiles advancing on our position. Permission to engage?"

The Magister raised his hand. "No. They won't make a move until we leave with the boy, but be ready for when they do."

An Atasian with skin in patches of candy red, royal blue, and bright yellow answered the door and gave them a sweeping bow. "Welcome, distinguished madams and sirs," he said. "Master Heldenhaft is waiting for you."

They walked through the house. It was a veritable mansion, though with far more steel and circuits than a mansion on Earth. Clean white light shone from the vaulted silver and cerulean ceilings far overhead. The butler led them to the foyer, where the Highbreed scion was waiting. He paced restlessly around the room, arms folded behind his back, as another manservant – or maid; Rom found it hard to tell the difference with the Atasian – tried futilely to tidy up his appearance.

"Master Heldenhaft, the Lawmakers have arrived."

Lawmakers. That was a new one. Heldenhaft turned to face them. Though he was smaller than the older Atasian, he still towered over them, at least half-again as tall as Max. The boy had ochre skin and a lavender face, from which three toxic green eyes smiled; his hands and feet were jet-black. The undersides of his wing flaps were a greyish-blue in color.

"Hey," Rom said. "Wasn't that the color scheme of the–"

A sharp jab from Sula cut him off short. "Yeah, duh," she hissed. "Don't be rude."

"Since when do _you_ care about people's feelings?"

The girl blinked rapidly and looked away with a scowl. "Shut up."

Magister Tennyson bowed to Heldenhaft, and after a short hesitation the cadets followed suit. Heldenhaft held his hands at his hips, squaring his already broad shoulders and standing up straight. The transformation was drastic; he was at least 200% more imposing by Rom's estimates.

"At ease, soldiers," he said in an authoritative voice. "I may be the closest thing to royalty on Augstaka, but I am one of you now."

 _Royalty?_

"Of course," Max said, rising to his feet. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready."

"Then we will be leaving now. I have nothing left here." Heldenhaft gestured to his butler, who wrapped a cloak around his shoulders before stepping back with a sigh.

"Your father would be proud."

Heldenhaft snorted. It was the least dignified thing he'd done so far. "Reinrassic hasn't talked to me since the Refounding. I highly doubt he would care."

Rom felt a pang. His uncles had been distant for his entire life. Though they were nicer than Heldenhaft's father seemed, he knew what it felt like to have that gulf between.

Heldenhaft followed them to the front door, but with how he carried himself, it seemed more like they were following him. Magister Tennyson motioned for Rom and Jubilee to be on point; their amorphic forms made them perfect for drawing fire. Didn't make him feel any better about going into battle untrained. Jubilee punched him lightly on the arm.

"Hey. Chill. You're going to be fine," she said with a smile. Then, on the count of three, she opened the door.

The moment they left the building, a bullet slammed into Jubilee's forehead. She staggered briefly, but the entry wound slowly closed, and she spat out the Corrodium round. It clicked to the ground as she rubbed a thumb across her cheek. "Metal slugs? Weak," she tutted. "Let me show you how it's done." As she spoke, Jubilee's form bulged and warped. Her Plumber uniform came apart into several smaller plates, which stuck to her mud-like skin. Tendrils of goo emerged from her head as her neck elongated. She was going full Sludgepuppy.

One arm stretched out and grabbed a blue-skinned Atasian charging toward them. Jubilee tossed him a good fifteen meters up, where he made a lazy arc before crashing into one of his allies with a grunt.

 _And here I am playing shoot-em-up,_ Rom thought, taking a potshot at another enemy soldier with his blaster. He would shoot his eyebeam were it not for its lack of precision. Using it was like bringing a hand grenade to a fistfight. He hadn't expected there to be so many people. Who said redundancy was a bad thing?

"You will not taint the Heir of Blood!" an Atasian with a snot-green exoskeleton snarled. He rocketed into the air, his powerful legs creating a shockwave that pulverized the ground, and headbutting Rom in the chest. Rom went on a short flight before slamming into a wall and rebounding to the concrete floor. It was painful.

The other cadets charged into the fray, Magister Tennyson keeping Heldenhaft safe inside, but it was a downhill battle. They were vastly outnumbered, and the Atasian were more experienced – they'd exterminated entire _worlds_. What hope could a few kids have against such warriors? The fact that they had all the same powers as the races they'd been hybridized with… Rom felt hopeless.

"Filthy mongrel," a woman sneered, grabbing Rom by the neck. As the periwinkle-skinned woman began choking him he began to grow lethargic. "You are not worthy to stand on this hallowed ground. I, the Vaike, will–"

"Enough."

The battlefield froze as Heldenhaft's noble voice boomed through the plaza. The boy stalked toward them, making a slicing motion with his arm as his cape billowed behind him.

"The only _filth_ here is _you_ ," he said, raising a clawed hand in front of his face as if clutching at some… thing. Rom couldn't come up with a suitable metaphor. "You call me the Heir of Blood, when once you used the Xenocytes as slaves? The Plumbers are indeed worthy to walk here… but you are not even worthy to wash my feet. Be gone."

As he spoke, the Atasian fundamentalists' expressions slowly transformed from dumbfounded to antipathetic. "We would rather you die than become impure," their leader said coldly. Rom assumed he was the leader. The man was at least twice as tall as the others; white skin, with red and blue details, suggested he was part To'kustar. His suspicions were confirmed when the leader raised an arm vertically began to cross it with the other.

"No, Stammbaum," Heldenhaft said. "You will not harm another soul. I will not let you." A hole opened in the palm of his hand, and he hurled a glob of glutinous proteins toward the fanatic, which stuck the man's arms together at a non-right angle.

The man growled and began tearing the bond apart with brute To'kustar strength, but Heldenhaft layered more globs onto him as he approached, and when the boy reached him, he lifted him overhead with a single arm and chucked him at a wall. The cultist stuck to the wall like, well, glue.

With their leader taken out, the rest of the Atasian looked to each other frantically and scattered, like so many cockroaches in the light. Heldenhaft stood, the lone victor on the winning side. Perhaps the Highbreed supposition of racial superiority was not unfounded. Arrogant, callous, and odious, to be sure, but perhaps not unfounded.

"Shall we depart?" Heldenhaft asked calmly of the stunned cadets. "I tire of this disjointed world."

[-]

Lunchtime. Heldenhaft had been the last cadet to pick up, so now they were finally on their way to the Academy. Rom carried a metal tray to the table where Wardell, RLEN, Bucky, and a girl he hadn't met were sitting. He didn't need to eat, but he could still taste things – an odd design choice, all things considered. Then again, who knew why Galvans did anything? Artificial taste buds… probably an accident, too, just like the creation of the Mechamorphs. Just like him.

Atop his tray was a decanter full of motor oil and cherry cordial, blended to perfection by the creamy-skinned, puffed-pastry-like Lewodan lunch-man, Nosh. Rom had to keep his body limber, but he hated the flavor of the oil. It was, well, oily. Tasted like road rash and wrestling. He'd also gotten a slice of lasagna and a strawberry muffin.

As he walked past Sula, who was sitting with Jubilee and a young woman with a burgundy carapace, Sula lashed out at him with a well-placed kick. Rom tripped and dropped to the floor, his tray falling… falling… falling…

The girl sitting by Wardell became a blue blur, zooming toward him. As his food reached the nadir of its descent, all scattered haphazardly, she snagged the items out of the air and smoothly reassembled his platter, even scooping the disseminated liquid back up with the decanter.

Sula's snicker faded. "What do you think you're doing, Kiran?" she said threateningly.

"I… I…" The girl blushed furiously, drawing Rom's tray close to her body defensively.

"Ooh," Rom growled, rising to his knees. "I've had enough." As the Tetramand girl stood and stepped forward menacingly, glaring at Kiran, he got back up and moved between them.

"This doesn't concern you, Rom," Sula said.

"This concerned me the moment you stuck your foot out," he retorted. "Only cowards resort to coercion. Plumbers are courageous, and _you_ will _never_ be one of them."

Sula flinched, as if he'd slapped her. She clenched her fists, digging her fingers into the palms of her hands, before shuffling out of the cafeteria with her face twisted up in a scowl. Wardell and Bucky stared at Rom incredulously, while the shelled girl gave him a contemplative look. He put a hand on Kiran's shoulder, smiling with his eye. "Thanks."

The girl blushed again. "Sure," she said demurely, glancing away. Realizing that she was still holding his tray, she gave a start and thrust it into his chest. "Oh, sorry! H-here's your food!"

He sat down with his new friends contentedly. The crustacean-like girl came and stood next to him. "Hey there," she said in a husky voice, digging her claws into his shoulder slightly – not enough to hurt. It seemed a friendly gesture. "I'm Io . Nice job standing up to that big-shot princess. None of the other boys have been brave enough to do the same." The words were general, but she gave Wardell a pointed glare. "Be seeing you a lot, I think."

Io tossed an apple core over her shoulder as she left, which plunked cleanly into the trash can. Rom whistled appreciatively.

"Oh, please. Anyone could do that."

"Yeah, Bucky? Step up."

"Can't." Bucky waved his front legs. "No hands."

"Excuses, excuses," Wardell scoffed.

"Don't make me hurt you."

"What you gonna do, hit me?" He gestured impishly. "No hands."

Rom took a swig of motor oil and started cutting his lasagna into smaller squares. He could have swallowed it whole, but aesthetics were important to him. After a few minutes, Jubilee moved over and started talking to Kiran, who eyed Rom shyly as she picked at her food. His chest swelled up with joy. Things were looking up.


	3. Breaking Out

Phaethon pulled his hood more tightly around his head and grumbled. He hated Chamelot. It was too bright, and colorful, and you could never tell when people were watching you. They hid too well. The entire planet was like a medieval carnival, all enchantment and laughter, yet the citizens lurked in the shadows and camouflaged themselves. It was a nerve-wracking contrast, at least in Phaethon's mind, but that was kit and caboodle with his line of work.

"Scared, squid-face?" Rime breathed.

"I'm not afraid," Phaethon grunted. "I just don't like it."

"Be glad we're only here to pick up the new recruit. No bells or whistles."

Notwithstanding, Phaethon continued his grumbling. Smiling Merlinisapiens waved at them from the parapets as they shuffled through the streets. Their triple eyes glinted joyfully in a kaleidoscope of colors. The residents _seemed_ friendly enough, but you could never be sure that there weren't some skulking, invisible, waiting to strike.

The two of them arrived at the Avalon Bar, their designated meeting place. A sign hanging over the door was painted with the depictions of an apple and a sword; a very retro fashion statement considering how modern the rest of the joint was. Merlinisapiens all looked the same to Phaethon, but Rime led him to a young man sipping a phosphorescent beverage at the counter.

"Am I to presume that you are Calogrenant?" Rime asked.

"Uh. Yeah," the man said offhandedly. "Call me Cal." Cal had a flippant, carefree manner. Phaethon disliked him instantly.

"Are you sure you can take the heat?" Phaethon murmured. "Plumbers, Incurseans, Vreedles…"

"No problemo."

Rime nodded. "Then let us proceed."

Cal nodded, tossing a handful of gold-and-bronze coinage into the tip receptacle, and reached beneath the counter, pulling out a black cannon at least as long as he was tall. It had red, green, and blue decals and a bayonet on the undercarriage. The other people in the bar shied away from him as he primed his weapon – mostly other Merlinisapiens and two humans, one of which had his arm around a Conductoid woman.

Always recruiting, always eliminating false leads. Sometimes they acquired artifacts, but most of those would come later. The boss knew what he was doing, Phaethon supposed, but it was so repetitive. What he wouldn't give for a classic shootout.

"We'll be arriving at the Academy shortly," Magister Tennyson said. He had gathered all the cadets in the conference hall to speak with them. Multispectral starlight filtered in through the viewport, pinpricks of color dotted across the black. Only Rom could see the ultraviolet and infrared radiance from the distant spheres; the rest would only see in black and white. How boring it must be to them, not being able to see the full beauty of the universe.

"You all have shown a great deal of bravery over these past few days," the older man continued, standing on the stage with his hands behind his back. The students stood in the amphitheater – or as Bucky called, 'the pit' – in rank and file. Sula stood quietly in the corner, shamefaced.

"You've come far, but there are tough times ahead of you. To be a Plumber, you must be prepared to defend civil liberties even at the cost of your own life… but being a Plumber is also about working together. You are a team! I am fully confident that each and every one of you has what it takes to succeed. For the rest of the trip, you're all relieved from your duties."

The cadets erupted into cheering. All but one.

Rom, his friends, and Irk clustered together as they walked back to their room. Bucky was talking horse-feathers as per usual.

"Is time really money?" he asked.

"That is what they say."

"Well, I have all the time in the world. Can I buy a house?"

"It's a figure of speech, bug-brain," Jubilee harrumphed.

[]

Rom was sitting at the desk tinkering with his blaster when there came a knock at the door. He turned, expecting to see one of his roommates, who were all in the gym doing Azmuth-knows-what. What did people do at the gym, anyway? But it wasn't them. Leaning against the doorframe was a slender, red-skinned figure.

"Oh. It's you." He turned back to his weapon. "What do you want?"

"Do you hate me?"

The question startled him. He looked back at her to see her gazing at the floor with wet eyes. "You do, don't you," she muttered. It wasn't a question.

"What? Of course I don't hate you!" He didn't like her much, but he certainly didn't _hate_ her.

Sula came in and sat down on his bed with a grimace. "Look. You were right. About me being a coward."

Now Rom was paying attention. He sat down on the bed across from her and rested his chin on his hands. Not that he had much of a chin.

"Aggression…" she said tentatively. "is the way of life for Tetramands, but especially for me. I have always had to fight for everything. Ignored by the other royalty. Unobtainable to the common people. My older sister, in contrast, has never had to fight for anything. The oldest, the strongest, the heir to the throne." Sula twiddled the fingers of her two lower hands as her upper arms gestured. "Even her husband-to-be was practically handed to her on a silver platter. I…"

The girl took a shaky breath and hugged herself. Rom could sense that she was closing herself off, so he reached out and put a comforting hand on her leg. "Please. Continue."

"I joined the Plumbers so that my talent would be appreciated… but old habits die hard." Sula gazed into his eyes, and there was a new emotion in them. An emotion he wouldn't have expected to see from her in a thousand eons. "I don't want to follow old traditions anymore. I don't want to wait for someone to beat me to a pulp. I want to…" She gulped. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… will you go out with me?"

Rom stared at her vacantly, not comprehending. When her request finally registered with him, his mind broke. He fell over, and everything went black. One too many hits with the Vaike.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

[]

"Total systematic shock."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. I'm not arguing with you about this. You know I'm right." Blukic turned to Sula with a glare. When Rom hadn't responded to Sula's prompts, she'd taken him straight to the two Galvans in the workshop. They had attached a cable to the boy's head and were running diagnostics. "His hard drive crashed. Prefrontal cortex suffered several fatal errors. What did you do to him?"

Sula stepped back. "I didn't do anything!" she said angrily, clenching her fists. The bright fluorescent lights overhead in the workshop draped her in a caliginous shroud.

"You know, I've never liked you," Driba replied, shaking a wrench at her. "But this is a step farther than your typical pettiness. We'll be sure to let Magister Tennyson know that you attacked a fellow student."

"No!" She reached for them, enraged, but Blukic pressed a button on the console and a dial tone started ringing.

"In fact, I think we'll call him right now."

[]

 _System rebooting. Neural interface… online. Empathic processor… online. Claytronic network… online. Recovering unsaved memories._

Rom's sight flickered to life. He was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. His uncles were hovering over him. And man, did he have a killer headache.

"Oh… what happened?" he groaned.

"Sula really did a number on you," Driba said gently. "Don't worry. It's been taken care of."

 _Sula. That's right. I have a date._ "What… what do you mean?" Rom said, clutching his head as he sat up. "Taken… care of?"

Blukic patted him on the arm. "After what she did to you, you can bet she won't be a Plumber cadet much longer. Magister Tennyson is escorting her to the holding cells now."

"What? No. No…" Rom staggered to his feet and stumbled, smashing headfirst into a steel wall. Shock. Horror. Sula had opened up to him, and now she was going to be stripped of her badge – of her dreams – and it was all his fault. Him and his stupid, primitive software.

"Rom! You are in no condition to be up and about!"

"All my fault," he grunted, lurching toward the door. "I'm not gonna sit around and let this happen! I have… a date."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Driba pressed a button and the door started sliding closed, but Rom took off, sliding under just as it hissed shut. Now, to find Sula. He pulled up a mental map of the Manifest. The brig was on one of the lowest layers, but more likely than not, Magister Tennyson would have sent guards to escort her to a conference room for interrogation before putting her in a cell. It had been almost twenty minutes since he'd crashed. Based on the ship's schematics…

"Gotcha. Optimal… point of interception… located."

He tore through endless floors and corridors, racing past other cadets and full-fledged Plumbers. There were no elevators, only hatches with ladders, since the Manifest was a combat vessel; elevators were dangerous in the event of power loss or damage to the hull. In fact, elevators were pretty much always terrible. Rom slipped down several of these on his way.

Sula came into view around a corner. She was being escorted by Magister Tennyson and several other Plumbers. They all held their guns at the ready, despite the Tetramand girl being quadruple-handcuffed. She looked absolutely miserable.

"Sto-o-op!" Rom hollered. "Don't expel her!"

Max turned to him with a skeptical frown. "You would stand up for your aggressor?"

"She's not my aggressor!" Rom proclaimed. "She's my girlfriend!"

The Plumbers were taken aback. Sula flushed crimson – well, a deeper shade of red than she already was, at any rate – and beamed, pleasantly surprised. He was fairly surprised by the words himself; a slip of the tongue and just like that, he was in a relationship.

"How hard did she hit you?" one of the adults said.

Sula huffed. "I already told you, _I_ didn't do anything. The fool malfunctioned."

"Hey!"

"An adorable fool," she conceded.

Magister Tennyson looked between the two teenagers. "Rom, is what she says true?"

Rom glanced away sheepishly. "Yes. Maybe."

Max gave him one last inspection and began kneading his forehead. "Kids these days," he sighed, stepping up to Sula and unlocking her manacles. Rom could have done it himself, by bypassing the electronic lock, but that might have been perceived as being uncouth. Newly unfettered, Sula tackled Rom in a bear hug. It was at this point that Blukic and Driba caught up to them, panting.

"Now she's crushing the life out of him!" Driba cried, misinterpreting the embrace completely. "Hands off our nephew, you slippery vixen!"

The two Galvan scientists scampered up to her and began drubbing her feebly. Sula wasn't affected in the slightest by their infinitesimal onslaught. She relinquished one arm from her hug to swat them away.

"You two need to calm down," Rom said. "When's the last time you took time off? Seriously."

"We haven't been allowed to take time off ever since the incident on Anur Transyl, which by the way was not my fault!"

"You took out half the interstate," Blukic said.

"Anyone could've made the same mistake."

"You destroyed the mayor's house."

"He was an Ectonurite! He doesn't need a house! Besides, you're the one who knocked Luna Lobo out of orbit!"

"It was only for a few minutes."

Sula was now leaning against the wall, a small grin on her face. Feeling a need to interrupt, Rom simulated the sound of someone clearing their throat. His arguing uncles cut off and looked up at him as he brought them up to speed. Driba furrowed his brow and stalked off.

"I'm not even going to pretend to understand people anymore," he complained. "Anyone has a problem, I'm just going to act stupid."

"Who's acting?" Blukic scoffed.

" _You're_ certainly not."

Their bickering faded. Rom turned to Sula, glowing. "Did you have a specific activity in mind for our date?"

"Not really," she said with a smile. "I'm not really sure what date procedure is… The Academy has a few holes-in-the-wall, a movie theater, and a bowling alley, for the boarders. Which is pretty everyone except Astra and Tock. So… whatever you'd like to do."

"They all sound fantastic."

Sula smacked him in the head, pulling her punch (which Rom supposed was as close as a Tetramand would ever get to gentleness). "That's not a decision!" she scolded.

"Ah! Bowling! Don't hurt me!"

He ran off, hands on his head, as she gave playful pursuit, leaving the adult Plumbers scratching their heads and pondering the mysteries of life and love – except for Llewellyn, who only wondered what to eat for second breakfast.


	4. School's In Session

"Good morning, cadets," Magister Tennyson said from the podium, straightening a stack of papers on the wood surface. "Welcome, Magisters Coronach and Rook Blonko. Thank you for joining us, though I'm sure you're plenty busy."

Upon arriving at the school, Rom had been assigned a room, given a key card, and had then been sent to unpack his things and settle in. The girls lived in a different section of the station, so Rom and Sula had reluctantly parted. The good news was, he shared a compartment with Wardell. The bad good news was, Bucky was there as well. Could've been worse. He could have shared a room with Irk. Now Max was giving them an acceptance speech, of sorts. Standing behind him were Rom's uncles, Magister Coronach, and another Galvan.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to salute you. Though many dream of joining us, few go the distance. You are among those few. Our history has been a long and often harrowing one. Through perseverance, we succeed, and I'm overjoyed to officially open the new branch of the Plumbers' Academy. Now, if you didn't know this before, part of the curriculum is to go out on real missions with full-ranked Plumbers. That might sound dangerous, but we choose these assignments based on a student's 'threat rating', a composite assessment of each kid's grades."

He looked around at them. There were many more students than had been on the Manifest, but only a third as many full-ranked Plumbers… and that number would likely shrink when the spacecraft departed. They were only here for the ceremony.

It was interesting to think what motivations the other teenagers had. Take Irk, for instance. Appoplexians were typically warmongers, so why had he decided to join a peacekeeping organization?

Rom shook his head and forced himself to pay attention to the Magister. Max was saying, "Some of you may be wondering why we've decided to open another facility after all this time. After a certain incident at the old Academy–"

"Which was _not_ my fault," Driba said.

"Was too."

"Boys, don't start," Max groaned. "This is supposed to be a dignified occasion."

"Yeah, Driba. _Dignified_."

"Oh, like you'd know the first thing about dignity."

They shut up quickly when Magister Hulka primed his weapon in a cavalier fashion and gave them a meaningful look. The students laughed.

"Well, at least they're good for entertainment, if nothing else," Tennyson said, turning back to the cadets. "One last thing. Remember that not just anyone has what it takes to be a hero – but _everyone_ has something to contribute. Thanks for being a part of this." He clapped his hands together. "Now, go get settled in. Classes start bright and early tomorrow!"

[]

It was a cutting edge facility, but the little aesthetics here and there were what impressed Rom, not the state-of-the-art equipment – each student bringing their home with them like the common Earth snail. A sarcophagus in one room where a normal bed should've been; half a dorm overgrown with vegetation; another with frigid air and dents in the metal walls. He walked past all these on the way to his first class. Chemistry.

"No!" a Galvan adult in a hoverchair said as Rom entered alongside Bucky and Sula. "Leave the white phosphorus alone! Don't you learn anything? Hey, careful with…"

One of the desks exploded in blue fire.

"…the potassium." The teacher noticed Rom waiting by the door. "Oh, hello. You must be Rom. I'm Professor Sebontes. You may have noticed the fact that you're the smartest student in the room."

Another gurney collapsed.

"Oh, honestly. Where'd you even find gallium? I thought I hid that after the last time…" Sebontes looked back at him. "Just find a seat that's still intact. I'm not too strict about boundaries. Can't afford to be," he grumbled.

Sula gave him a small smile as he sat in an empty seat next to hers at the back of the class. "Hi. I'm still not used to not being…"

"A jerk?"

"That's the word."

Hesitantly, Rom took her hand. "Well… I'm with you every step of the way."

The smile grew into a grin. Her eyes sparkled.

"Every step of the way to where?"

Rom and Sula flew apart, Sula blushing furiously as she glared at Bucky, who had hopped up onto the other empty seat. Bucky said something else, presumably something oblivious and inconsiderate, but Rom couldn't hear him. His auditory receptors were literally buzzing from embarrassment.

He took a look around the class. It was of decent size. There were nine rectangular tables in the center of the room; it was at these tables most of the students were waiting for Sebontes to take role. The rest of the students were in the lab area.

And what a lab area it was. If Rom had breath, it would've been taken away by the sight – and if he'd had organs, his geeky little heart would have skipped a beat. Each table in the lab was a white circle, molding seamlessly into the steel and silicone floors; really, they were more like daises than tables. Beakers of liquid adrenaline, totes filled with rubidium chloride… If only he weren't surrounded by idiots and savants.

Case in point: an older, grey-skinned boy at one lab table and his large partner, whose project was currently annexing the oil kingdom.

"Octagon!" Sebontes said. "What have I told you about creating life?"

"My propensity for biogenesis is both benediction and tribulation," the boy said. His partner pulled out a blaster and aimed it at the amoebic creature.

"Use the incinerator for disposal, please," the teacher called tiredly. "Everyone finish up and get to your seats. I'll be taking role."

Rom almost let himself wonder what would have happened if Azmuth had held that mindset back when the Galvanic Mechamorphs were created. _Let the existential crisis set in. Don't let the existential crisis set in._

Sebontes called out their names alphabetically. Bucky, a girl named Doyenne, a boy named Frost. Rom and Sula were called side by side, which made Rom chuckle. Almost fitting.

"Alright. To ease new students into the course, I thought we'd start with something simple. We'll be using osmium tetroxide to stain tissue samples for further analysis."

Rom raised his hand. "Isn't osmium tetroxide dangerously toxic?"

The teacher thought about it. "That's true, isn't it… Change of plans. Get into groups, and I'll assign you a rare earth metal to do a report on."

The smarter kids groaned.

"Are humans boring and useless just because they all look and act the same?" He paused. "Don't answer that. Your report should elucidate why your metal is, in fact, worthwhile. Get to work. Meanwhile, I'll be cleaning the lab area," Sebontes sighed, pulling out a strange metallic gripper device.

 _Fun fact_ , Rom thought tangentially as they pulled out their textbooks. _Each Galvanic Mechamorph has a unique mixture of gases in their bodies, giving rise to their distinct coloration. For myself, that mixture is predominantly neon._

"What're you thinking about?" Sula asked fondly. It was odd hearing that tone of voice from her. Odd… but nice.

"What? I wasn't thinking about anything off-topic," Rom flickered, his equivalent of blushing.

"She didn't say anything about being off-topic."

"Butt out, bug-brain!"

"Ow! Watch the light!"

[]

After suffering through the lanthanides with his friends, his next period was the dreaded physical education – known and feared by nerds everywhere as gym class. Sadly, the only person he knew was Irk, who caught up to him while running their starting laps. Rom sighed, bracing himself for the berating. It didn't come.

"Irk would like to – what's the thing people do when they do bad things?"

"Apologize?"

"No… starts with an A."

"Apologize starts with an A."

Irk shook his fist at him. "Let me tell you something, Rom of Galvan B! You come shaking up paradigms, you'd better expect rivals!" He paused. "That's my big word of the day. No more!"

"Rivals?"

"Like enemies, but friendly!"

Rom fired up his speakers again but was cut off by the blow of the whistle. They slowed and ambled to the center of the room, where Magister Hulka was waiting.

"Listen up, maggots!" the solid, maroon-skinned man barked. "Unlike your other teachers, I won't be pulling any punches just because it's your first day!"

The kids sighed.

"No griping! Today we're going to be doing endurance training. If you can't take a hit or two, you'll never be a real Plumber."

Someone sniffled quietly. It was barely audible, but Hulka perked up and focused his gaze on a small, grey-skinned boy with his slightly-pear-shaped head buried in his arms.

"Oh, what's wrong?" Hulka asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Poor baby doesn't have what it takes?"

The boy looked up with sad eyes and muttered something about the pain. Rom couldn't hear, but from what he knew about Splixsons, the boy was probably talking about their fatal flaw. For Splixsons, who could create multiple duplicates of themselves, damage received by one clone was felt by every other clone.

Hulka scoffed. "You know, Geminus, Sonar has all the same powers as you, but his multiples are expendable. _He_ has other powers besides duplication. Right now, you're just redundant."

Geminus's eyes filled with tears. He stood with a shiver and ran away with his hands to his face as the waterworks started to flow. Hulka harrumphed and turned back to the rest of them, instructing them on the exercises as if nothing had happened. Rom was shocked by the blatant disregard for sentient decency.

He wasn't the only one. A Sonorosian boy – that would be Sonar – looked after where Geminus had run. Then he rose to his feet and walked away in the same direction.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Sonar turned back with a flat look. "To save a life. That's what Plumbers do."

"Stop right there, or you're suspended!"

"Yeah. Might as well punish me for being true to myself," Sonar said, stepping through the threshold. "It's what you're best at."

[]

Sonar found him in the janitor's closet, sitting with his head against his knees. The Splixson boy looked up tiredly.

"Oh. The guy who's better than me."

Sonar sat down next to him. "Maybe. But you know… I've always thought that you were much braver than I was."

Geminus blinked away the saltwater. "What?"

His cheeks started vibrating. Being living sound contained within what was essentially a fancy plastic bag, stupid-looking wobbles were as close as he got to flushing. "Well… I'm expendable. It's easy for me to march into danger, since I can just make more of me, and any of them – or, me – can replace any other. But you?" Sonar glanced away. "You've only got one shot… but you're not hiding from the darkness. You're taking your shot in the dark, and I think that's much better than what I can do… no matter what anyone says."

Geminus turned pink. Slowly, he beamed. "Oh… I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything." Sonar stood and offered him a hand. "Come on. Hulka's waiting. We'll get stronger, together."

"…Yeah. Okay." Geminus took the hand. "Friends?"

"I thought that was implied," Sonar chuckled. He pulled him to his feet, and together, they walked back to gym class.

[]

Rom's last class of the day was arms training. While gym class was meant to hone their inherent physical abilities, weapons class was geared towards the external dangerous of the universe. As an Earth politician once said – speak softly, and carry a big stick.

The major flaw in Rom's arsenal was the lack of subtlety, so he was hoping to get his hands on a low-key blaster. Much to his disappointment, an array of heavier weaponry was laid out in front of the classroom, which itself was more of an indoor shooting range than a traditional seminary room. The other students did not share his frustration.

"Aw, an ion autocannon? Grand!" one of Rom's classmates said.

Their teacher belonged to a species Rom had no knowledge of. She was about the same height as a human female with dark eyes and long, sandy hair – not sandy as in blonde, but as in literally made of particulate matter. Under the Plumber suit, her entire body was presumably made of the same stuff.

"Settle down, peeps," she said cheerfully. "I might not be much older than you, but I am the teacher, so you kinda have to do what I say. My name is Strand."

A boy wolf-whistled.

"Oh," Strand laughed, looking down at her hourglass figure. _Pun intended_. "I'm flattered, but I'm not interested in men. Well, let's get right into it, shall we?" She sauntered over to where the armaments were laid out. They were big, they were mechanical, and they weren't Rom's fashion in the slightest. "Most of you won't know how to operate ordnances like these already, but you'll need to. Everyone line up by height and I'll assign you to a blaster."

Rom sighed and shuffled around until he was sandwiched between a shorter, green-skinned girl and a tall, eight-eyed person of ambiguous gender. It was going to be a long class.


	5. Reheated

Rom adjusted the red cadet's badge on his uniform nervously. He was about to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life. More dangerous than facing off against Zombozo, the Forever Knights, or even Vilgax. No, this was something infinitely more daunting. This… was his first date.

He approached the restaurant with caution. It was the local branch of a Terran fast-food franchise – one of the Mr. Smoothy competitors that struggled to subsist in the Earth economy but thrived on other worlds where the milkshake monopoly didn't have as strong a hold – known as Hungry Helix's. The greasy smell of cheap burgers and chili fries wafted toward him as he entered.

Sula smirked as he sat down in the booth across from her. "Scared I might bite?"

Rom flushed neon. "My uncle warned me that if I went too fast we might crash and burn. I don't want that to happen."

"Hrmm. Surprisingly insightful of him." Sula paused. Then she gave a more genuine smile. "I'm so happy you actually came. Order anything you like. It's my treat," she grinned.

He grinned, too. Or smiled with his eye, as was the case for Mechamorphs. "I'm not really hungry."

"Oh, shut up," Sula growled, showing her savage side again. "I know full well you don't need to eat. Humor me."

Rom chuckled bashfully. He ordered a chicken burger with mayo and a caramel frappe. She ordered a beef-and-bacon monstrosity called the Widowmaker and a water. It was obvious that they were opposites in their eating habits. Rom picked foods for their flavor, while Sula, with her Tetramand physiology, needed fare high in carbohydrates and protein.

Their date was cut short when Wardell and Bucky threw open the front doors and rushed to them, covered in sweat.

"Urgent… message…" Wardell panted. "Magister Tennyson… requested you specifically. Hey… what's going on here?"

Bucky cocked his head and squinted at Sula. "I think Sula's blackmailing him. Why else would he hang out with someone like her?"

"Watch it, Buckminster, or I'll rip you a new one," she snarled.

Rom put a hand on her shoulder soothingly and turned to Wardell. "What's the Magister want with me?"

They both shrugged.

"That's very helpful," he said flatly. "Alright… lead the way."

Rom and Sula stood and started toward the front of the restaurant, but Wardell stepped between them and put his arm out. "Uh uh. You're not coming!" he said to the Tetramand girl.

Rom lost his temper. He grabbed Wardell by the front of his armor, lifting him a centimeter off the ground, and snarled, "I have had it with your refusal to treat her with common decency." He visibly regained his composure and set the Opticoid down. "Sula comes. My treat."

Sula's frown slowly turned upside down. Wardell and Bucky looked between them perplexedly. Wardell's eyes widened. "Are you two _dating_?" He paused. "You know what, never mind. We can talk about your taste in women later. Come on!"

He took off, with Rom and Sula close behind. Bucky, unsettled by the idea of the affable Mechamorph and belligerent Tetramand being together, lingered. Then he skittered off after them.

The Academy itself, a vast space station the length of twelve football fields hanging in the orbit of a lone yellow giant, was a nesting doll of modernism. All of the eateries, shops, and assorted entertainment facilities were on the spacious middle section of the station. With the ceiling far above their heads, grass and concrete beneath their feet, and generous legroom between buildings, it was a more than passable mimicry of the open-air towns from which many cadets journeyed, offering comfort to them in strange environs. Only the plexiglass viewports framed by steel supports in the horizon and the elevator shafts interspersed throughout belied this facade.

They rode one of those elevators to the bridge of the station, where the Magister was waiting restlessly. Seated at the top of the Academy, it was both observation deck and command station, with a domed roof and monitors showing security footage from every level. Max saw him and waved them over.

"Glad you could come," he said. "We have a situation."

Rom scratched his head. "Okay. What's that have to do with me?"

The Magister's eyes gleamed mischievously. "A private treasury sent out a distress call on a frequency exclusively used by Plumbers. Unfortunately, the vault is owned by the Incursean, and they don't recognize our authority. That's where you come in."

He turned to a display monitor and pulled up a picture of a small, rocky planet revolving askew around a blue giant.

"You're not full Plumbers yet, but you've already proven far and beyond that you're courageous and clever; in my mind, at least." Max gave a pointed look to Magister Hulka, who merely grunted. He turned back to Rom. "So I want _you_ to head a team of cadets into the vault and rout the gatecrashers."

Rom stared at him incredulously. Then he started laughing. "You guys rejected my application for admission more times than Irk can count, and now all of a sudden you want me in a position of leadership?"

There was an awkward silence. Max shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry," Rom muttered, suddenly sheepish at his outburst. "I'll do it. Who's on my team?"

"That's up to you to decide," Max said, relieved. "You'll need a small strike force to get around without being detected."

Rom looked at his friends. "I think I know who I want on my team."

[]

The landing site was crawling with frog-people, all scurrying frantically to get aboard the departing spacecraft. Rom thanked their pilot over the coms and hopped out, moving swiftly to the only Incursean that wasn't fleeing.

The man had an apprehensive expression on his bumpy green face and kept glancing back at the main complex. "Hail, soldier," he said to Rom. "You arrived here at a critical moment. The… thing… is in the vault. You can't miss it."

"What are we going up against here?" Rom asked.

He shrugged. "Not sure what to make of it. We're understrength and undersupplied, and my men were easily overpowered by the thing. Hope you have better luck."

The Incursean handed Rom a security pass. "Everything's on lockdown – well, other than the systems it bypassed – but you can use this to get mostly anywhere. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the command module. In the event that you croak," he croaked, "I have orders to quarantine the entire facility." He said _quarantine_ like _self-destruct_.

Rom nodded and advanced to the front doors with his teammates following in a tight delta formation. Closest to him were Sula and Wardell, with Bucky and Irk bringing up the rear. Between them were Io and Jubilee. Kiran had fallen ill, and RLEN was unfortunately neither fast nor stealthy.

The security door was crumpled around the center but sealed, as if it had been damaged while open and someone had locked it afterward. Rom slid the card through and the door grinded open.

It was dimly lit inside. The facility was immediately reminiscent of a cavern, with rounded stone walls and cones of rock hanging from the ceiling and floor. High tech work consoles and doors belied this Neolithic facade.

"Fascinating," Io murmured. "Not many outsiders have the chance to see Incursean architectural styles and live to tell the tale. This is the opportunity of a lifetime!"

Rom raised his eyebrow.

"She's specializing in construction as a sapper," Jubilee explained. "You know, your antithesis."

 _Pleasant way to describe it_ , Rom thought.

It wasn't long before they heard it. Low, almost agonized grunts echoed toward them from somewhere deeper within the facility, accompanied by the sound of heavy impacts against metal. Probably the same thing that had crumpled the front aperture. Sula jogged ahead to scout, but when she saw what it was she dove for cover.

"Duck!" she hissed, yanking Rom behind a wall-like cluster of stalagmites.

"What is it?" Wardell asked. They all took cover behind the barricade and peeked over the top. What they saw stole their breath from them.

It was the Pyronite from before, except… Something was horribly wrong. He – if he could even be assigned a gender anymore – staggered with a bizarre gait as he pounded against the metal with his fists. His eyes were dead and hollow, and something had gouged a hole through his chest and installed a curious, rectangular device. And that wasn't even the worst part.

It was so awful, so _unnatural_ , that Rom heaved despite having neither bile nor a stomach. Where once had been veins of living molten rock and leaping tongues of saffron flame was now cold, lifeless slag, reddish-black and inert. The Pyronite man had been extinguished.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" Bucky gagged. "Am I the only one seeing an actual zombie?"

"I wish you were the only one seeing it," Rom muttered. "This… undead Heatblast. Dead Heat."

The Pyronite froze, its arms dangling by its sides, but it hadn't seemed to notice them. Rather, it stood with its head cocked as if listening to someone. Then it stomped its feet and growled at the door. The device on Dead Heat's back began to glow with a sickly lime light. As the cadets watched silently, the light flowed from the device to its body, filling its empty veins with toxic green radiance.

"What off Earth–"

Dead Heat erupted into motion, slamming its arms into the door. With the characteristic sizzle of acid, the steel melted away beneath his touch, and the zombie surged through.

Rom tapped his chest twice, pointed to the monster, and wiggled two fingers like someone walking. His friends nodded and skulked after Dead Heat. They could have confronted it then and there, but Rom wanted to see what, exactly, the Plumbers were willing to keep secret from their own cadets.

The caverns gave way to familiar high-tech hallways as they plunged deeper into the heart of the planet, following the undead Pyronite. Rom's confidence faded as they watched it tear down another airlock with its bare hands, almost as if it were growing progressively stronger as time passed. Still it grunted and moaned.

"What are we waiting for?" Sula finally said, patience lost as they paused in front of a massive locked ingress.

"To see what they're after," Rom replied. His voice rebounded. They winced and backed off, but the damage was done. Dead Heat had noticed them.

The zombie turned and groaned at them. The acid buff had flowed out of its 'veins' at that point – it must've been a gauged ability and needed time to recharge – but by Rom's estimate it was still at least half again as strong as his girlfriend. It still gave him a rush to think of her that way.

Dead Heat gave him a rush as well, catching him off guard and knocking him to the ground. The cadets had the advantage of numbers, but the Pyronite was an adult and abnormally powerful. Each blow knocked someone to the floor. Only Sula and Irk withstood being struck without falling.

"Let me tell you something, freakish volcanic rock effigy guy!" Irk yelled. "There's two kinds of stealth – normal stealth and Appoplexian stealth – and you didn't see nothing from us!"

Dead Heat staggered as Irk socked it in the face but quickly regained its footing and lunged for Rom, lifting him into the air. A blood-red glow filled its eyes as fire pumped from the device back into its veins once again. It took a deep breath, building up a blast of flame that would surely burn away Rom's life-force.

"No! Hands _off_!"

Sula tackled the zombie, diverting the blast away from Rom. Flames licked at empty air as the two of them stumbled and Sula crashed to the floor. Rom rushed to her side, heedless of the danger. Her skin was severely damaged from where she'd come into contact with the Pyronite. This had happened because of him. Because he hadn't thought things through. Rage and shame consumed him, and in that moment, he did something he never thought he would do. He swallowed his blaster.

The nanocarbon filaments in his build reconfigured the weapon, fusing it with his ego sum to create something better, something more. Rom's arm transformed, fingers elongating into the barrel. His antebrachium expanded into a rectangular prism, the body of the supercharged blaster, which glowed with neon light.

"Hey, slag heap!" Rom roared, taking aim. "I'm gonna _kick your butt_!"

Rom, still subject to physical laws of retaliation, slid in reverse as a crimson lance of brilliant plasma arced out from his firearm, hurtling into the zombie with the force of a supernova and pummeling it into the wall.

"Are we done here?" Rom asked concernedly. "Sula's badly burned and unconscious."

The other cadets gawked at him as Dead Heat slid to the ground in a smoking heap, leaving a meter-deep crater in its wake.

"You mean you've been holding out on us this whole time?" Wardell said quietly. "I mean, I know you said you don't like using your powers, but… people got hurt, man."

"You think I don't know that?" Rom looked down. "My girlfriend got hurt."

They were silent for a moment. Rom regurgitated his blaster and lifted Sula tenderly. Io hoisted Dead Heat over her shoulder, and without another word, the cadets departed.

Some hero he turned out to be.

The Incursean's anxious voice sprung from an unseen source. "I'm about to activate the quarantine. If you've succeeded, now's the time to let me know."

Rom waved tiredly to a security camera. There was a click and the overhead illumination came back on, but all the light in the universe couldn't brighten his dark matter heart. _No such thing as happy endings in this cosmos._


	6. What Hath Starbeard Wrought

Rom hesitated at the door, bouquet of flowers held behind his back. Jacob's-ladders, orchids, roses – he wasn't sure if she'd like them. He wasn't sure if she'd like him, still. The nurse nudged him forward, and Rom, taking a nervous intake of oxygen, stepped inside.

The neon caught in his throat. Sula's head rested against the pillow, slightly askew, a serene smile upon her lips. Her chest rose and fell gently, still upright, as though she'd drifted off while waiting for him. But her right arms were wrapped in bandages, as was her upper torso, and the marring of her beauty was his fault. Shamefaced, Rom quietly moved to the bed, carefully tucked his bouquet into the vase there, and turned to leave.

"Mm. Rom, don't think you're going to get away that easily."

Rom felt a muscular arm wrap around his neck as Sula pulled him in. "No, please!" he said. "It was an…" Rom trailed off as he realized the life wasn't being crushed out of him. "…accident."

Sula hugged him warmly. "You doofus. It was _not_ an accident. I did it on purpose, for _you_. Stop blaming yourself." She gave him a fierce squeeze and winced. "Oop. Instant regret."

Rom rested his head on her shoulder, content to just be in her arms, breathing her in. She smelled of vanilla, wet grass, and campfire smoke. His liquid-state drive defragged and he slipped out, clearing his throat in embarrassment. Sula's eyes glittered with delight at his bashfulness.

"How, uh, how long are they keeping you here?" Rom blushed.

She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I should be out in the next week or two. The damaged skin has mostly been replaced with scar tissue. They're going to have to graft new skin on, some places." The Plumbers had special vats where they could grow new tissue, cells, and even whole organs from induced pluripotent stem cells, so patient's bodies didn't reject the transplant. It was much safer than the use of immunosuppressant drugs, which could make tissue recipients very sick, but it was time-consuming, taking days to weeks depending on how many stem cells were needed. Luckily, the Plumbers' methods were vastly more efficient than those of Earth scientists.

"All that's left is for me to get my strength back up." Sula flexed with her good arms, winking at him. "Shouldn't be too hard."

A chill ran down Rom's spinal fluid. He shuffled closer, sitting down beside her. "Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I'm still sorry."

"Apology accepted," Sula laughed.

His hand traced a gentle line on her burned flesh. It was dry and yellowish, and didn't blanch when he put pressure on it. A deep partial-thickness second-degree burn. "Mind if I… hang out for a while?"

She beamed. "Not one bit."

The nurse sighed, pulling out a book as he sat down to keep an eye on them. Kids. Always so frisky. When he'd been their age, he couldn't get a date to save his life, and spent every day in his room alone with his tears. Those were the good old days.

[-]

No one gave Wardell a second glance as he moved through the school's halls. This, in and of itself, was not unusual. People rarely paid attention to him, but given his involvement in the first cadet mission in Academy history, he'd expected people to treat him like a star. Not so, evidently.

Wardell was a "cool" kid in the sense that everyone liked him in class and he had no enemies, but he wasn't a _popular_ kid. He'd never snogged anyone, people didn't gossip about him, and the girl he liked didn't know he existed. Wardell saw everyone; no one saw him. All the eyes in the world and he was just a blink.

Wardell's family didn't particularly care about him, either. They had drastically different views on certain subjects, and in their eyes, his attempts to better the universe were equivalent to acts of terror. His thesis paper on political corruption hadn't merely earned him a place at the Academy; it had also earned him their total animosity.

"Wardeeeeeeell!"

Wardell cringed. He could practically hear the six extra E's in Bucky's shout-out. The chatty bug sidled up to him, not waiting for a response before launching right into it.

"So, you know those field trips Magister Tennyson and the Academy big wigs are always sending the older students on to visit extraterrestrial centers of industry, trade, and culture and to learn about alien civilizations' histories for weeks at a time?"

"Do you even breathe?"

"Well, as you know, second year students like us aren't normally allowed to go on excursion, but I think I've discovered a provisional clause in the applicant guidelines—"

"That sounds suspiciously competent of you."

Bucky didn't miss a beat. "—that says cadets with experience as officially sanctioned Plumber agents in the field can apply regardless of how long they've attended!"

Wardell slowed. "Okay… now, tell me why I care."

"Because _Io_ is going on the next outing." Bucky wiggled his eyelids. He didn't have brows.

Wardell turned red and started walking faster, heedful of the relentless teasing that was sure to follow. Bucky paused to stare at the wall before scuttling to catch up.

"Why do you waste your time with her, anyway? She hates you."

"Sula hated Rom," Wardell grumbled.

"Those two are psychotic, but you're a sycophant."

Wardell's forehead scrunched up. Before he had a chance to throw shade, Bucky veered off, locking horns with a big-jawed beetle, and Wardell remembered that they didn't have the next class together. Tempted to simply blow the door down, he kicked it open instead. The girl with flowing ebony flames for hair and skin the color of the void sprinkled with the light of ancient suns was staring at him again with wide glowing white eyes. He waved tiredly, forcing a smile, and slumped into his seat two rows over. Rom walked in a minute before the bell rang and promptly dropped his books.

" _That's a Celestialsapien!_ " he hissed, sitting down next to Wardell.

Wardell sucked his teeth. It wasn't fair of him to be impatient. He'd been as surprised as Rom, his first year. "Her _name_ is Astra. Don't talk about her like she's not a person."

Rom blinked, flickering. "Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry. But… doesn't her species normally… keep to themselves in the Forge of Creation?" The Forge of Creation was the Celestialsapiens' home. It wasn't a planet but an entire plane of existence, existing beyond any universe and protected from gatecrashers by an impenetrable chrono-randomization barrier.

"Believe me," Wardell snorted, "her dad was not happy when she told him she wanted to be a Plumber." He looked up thoughtfully. "It's the one thing all of her agrees on. She really struggles with class, and she's not at all social… but Astra has guts. I really admire her."

[-]

~Ohhhh myyyyy Contemelia! He said he admiiiiires us!~ Vaecora, Voice of Admiration and Zeal, squealed, her youthful, naïve, somewhat chubby face split with a fangirlish grin.

 **Be quiet, Vaecora!** Iracun, Voice of Turmoil and Tsundere, barked. His face was manly and angular, handsome in a Spartan way. **By Starbeard's hair, you are so embarrassing!**

The four Voices were drifting in an infinite, empty void, the pocket universe contained within Astra's body. It was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint white glow of their disembodied floating heads and the screen showing what her eyes saw. For Astra to do anything, a majority of her personalities had to agree on the action. Each was at odds with the others by nature, and a Celestialsapien developed more as they grew, with some exceptions.

Maybe we sh-shouldn't be eavesdropping…

Iracun gazed daggers at Phoebe, Voice of Tranquility and Reservation, whose petite, round face perpetually stared at the floor. **We** ** _all_** **agreed on that to begin with! You can't get cold feet now!**

Vaecora perked up. ~I think what Phoebe was trying to say was, maybe we should just talk to him! I move to do so!~

Cogit, the articulate Voice of Logic and Sensibleness, shook his head. He had wide eyes and a square, august face. (Out of the question. Motion denied.)

 **Are you insane? No, obviously!**

I-I don't think so. He, um, probably doesn't even like us, anyway.

(Motion defeated.)

And Astra was one of the _more_ decisive Celestialsapiens. Most of her kin just stood around motionless at the Forge of Creation for billions of years. They held themselves above the "petty goings-on" of the multiverse, but considering that her nephew hadn't even blinked since before the Big Bang, she thought they weren't all that great. Astra wished she were a human, sometimes; but to shed her omnipotence would require five consecutive thoughts, a motion only one shy of the number needed to destroy all existence, and despite their powerless fantasies, none of her voices would willingly cease to exist—besides which, there were Celestialsapien laws against it.

As the rest of her class learned and joked and formed friendships that would last until the end of their mortal lives, Astra sat motionless, so totally absorbed by her own self-consciousness that she couldn't even finish the classwork. Astra didn't have friends. She'd just outlive them, and then she'd be alone again. Five minutes after the final bell rang, she finally stood up and handed the mostly-blank sheet of paper to the teacher, who smiled pityingly.

"It's alright, Astra. You'll finish an assignment one of these days."

One thing the voices agreed on – the teacher's words hurt. She wasn't the only one who liked to curse Astra with faint praise. Many of the other students did. When they didn't outright make fun of her, that is. Only Wardell was nice to her… Astra walked to her next class deliberately, the movement a unanimous decision. And then, as she passed her crush and his friends, Wardell said something stunning.

"As long as you guys promise to sign up for the field trip, I'll do it. I think it could be fun."

For the first time in Astra's immortal life, the voices went silent. Each looked between the others and the window levitating in front of them.

(Wardell is eligible for excursion now?) Cogit finally said.

 **I move to sign up for the field trip! I swear, Phoebe, if you deny this motion—!**

M-m-motion seconded!

~Of coooourse I second the motion!~

(This is highly irrational,) Cogit grumbled. (Motion carried.)

The constant chatter and quiet mockery of her present in the halls ceased as Astra halted, flipped her hair confidently, and spun, strutting to the corkboard upon which the signup sheet was centered. She gestured casually, creating a pen, ex nihilo, and signed her name with a flourish before letting the virtual particles composing the pen pop out of existence once again. Then, she hitched up her books and resumed the walk to her next class, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

Immediately, the student body erupted into a frenzy of whispers. Wardell raised several eyebrows. What had gotten into her? It took him several seconds to realize Bucky was scuttling circles around him, motor-mouthing.

"Up, up. Hey, dummy, pick me up and carry me over there! I can't reach the sign-up sheet! Also, I need to borrow your pencil. There will be spit." Impatient, Bucky bit him.

"Ow! Didn't you see what just happened?"

"Yeah, sure, Astra, whatever. Now up, up now."

Wardell pushed him gently away with his foot, looking to see where Astra had gone. "Hold on. I want to talk to her before class starts."

 _"_ Lift, me, up above this; the flames and the ashes!" Bucky started singing, off-key and off-tempo.

"Al _right_!" With a scowl, Wardell pulled a pen out of his pocket, handed it to the insectoid's awaiting mouth, and grabbed him around the thorax, hoisting him into the air. Bucky etched out B-U-C-K-Y, all capital letters, on the paper in his hallmark chicken scratch. Then he spat Wardell's pen to the floor and squirmed out of his grasp. Wardell growled, bending over to pick it up. Grasping it tentatively, he signed his own name. Seeing Rom bouncing eagerly behind him, he moved aside.

Rom took his time signing the paper, scanning the other names. Geminus's and Sonar's names were packed closely together. Some names he'd hoped to see were missing. Sula, Heldenhaft, and Kiran.

The warning bell rang. Rom flew into a panic. The M became a deformed Л as he tore away from the wall, fully aware that he was the only person not in class, and ran down the hall. He rounded the corner and barreled headfirst into another person. Rom crashed to the floor.

"Oh, dear," the man said in concern, with a mildly British accent. "My sincerest apologies. I'm used to Aldabra's tradition of walking on the left side."

Rom looked up. Standing over him was a middle-aged human with skunk-striped hair wearing a brown vest and a white topcoat over a plain dress shirt and a black tie. A pair of green-lensed goggles hung around the man's neck.

The man extended a hand, pulling Rom to his feet. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a bright blue sphere, offering it to Rom. "I don't believe we've met. Gumball?"

Mystified, Rom took the sphere. "Uh. Sure."

"Hmm." The man leaned in, poking at Rom's head. "Upgrade. That takes me forward – or is it back? No, I'm fairly certain it's forward. But I don't recognize you. Do you have a name?"

"Rom."

"Rom," he said, rolling the R. "That's quite droll! Would you do me an indulgence, young Mechamorph?"

Rom nodded wordlessly.

The man's face grew solemn. "Inform Max it is _imperative_ that he find and stall Eighteight while she passes through Undertown to facilitate a meeting between her and Benjamin."

There were no words. Rom merely gave him a thumbs-up, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. He was late to Professor Sebontes' class by several minutes. There was something almost familiar about the strange fellow in front of him. "I'll let him know. But I'm late to my class…"

"Yes, you are," the man mused, pulling a fob watch out of his pocket. "Precisely one-hundred and eighty-four seconds late. Just show Sebontes the gumball. He'll understand." The man turned and began walking away in the direction of the elevators, but paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Ah! I almost forgot. Tell the Magister to expect a package from Timeheart. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a blue-haired madman about to catalyze a civil war on a small planet inside Hoag's Object in exactly two days and who will have been being deleterious to the worldline of a loud house a year ago, and I'm afraid I must monitor the situations to ensure they don't get… out of hand."

Rom's eye twitched, overloaded by the influx of nonsense. The man nodded with a calm smile, apparently satisfied, and walked into the janitor's closet.

"Um… sir?" Rom asked, now fully confident the man was insane. "That's a closet."

"Indeed. A friend of mine named Stanley once told me that marvelous secrets come out of closets. Don't you have a class to get to?"

Rom started. He forgot about the man's peculiarity as he ran to the science lab, throwing the door open in a huff. The skinny Galvan adult turned. When he saw it was Rom, he flew his hoverchair over to him, eyes relieved – an emotion Rom hadn't expected to see.

"Good to see you, Rom. Everyone here's either incompetent or competent in all the wrong ways." Sebontes gave a pointed glare to Octagon, who appeared to be mixing neotame and VX nerve agent into a cup of green tea. The noseless Vreedles were capable of surviving the vacuum of space, but Rom was pretty sure they weren't immune to neurotoxins. Despite this, Octagon proceeded to sip the tea. His wide-set younger brother Rhomboid fiddled with a standard-issue blaster.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," Rom said, bowing graciously to his superior. "I ran into someone." He showed the gumball to the professor.

Sebontes turn a lighter shade of grey. The professor zoomed to his desk and picked up a com device, hastily turning it on. Sebontes began whispering into it frantically.

The moment their teacher was distracted, the class stopped pretending to care about stereochemistry. Rhomboid jammed a liquid nitrogen reservoir onto the top of his gun, aimed, chambered the energy pellet, and fired. Rom flinched as a searing bolt of plasma screamed across the room, straight at Irk. Right before it slammed into his face, Rhomboid pushed a button and the orb froze in midair. Flux pinning. Rom had never seen it at such a long range. The idiot savant had once again proven his knack for destruction.

Irk slammed his fists on the desk. "You riddle-looking weapons-grade plum! Irk is gonna affect _your_ Meissner like a toucan drinking root beer on Mars!" Irk jumped to his feet and grabbed the orb of plasma with his bare hands, lifting it over his head. Rhomboid's gun, still pinned to the plasma, was wrenched out of the Vreedle's hands and rotated with the motion of Irk's arms, smacking against the ceiling. He took a flying leap across the room and pinned the other boy to the floor, slamming the orb against Rhomboid's face. "Let me tell you something about Irk! Irk is the heavyweight who gets all the homerun touchdowns!" Smack. "Hole in one strike!" Smack. "No faults!" Smack. "Yahtzee, love!"

"I reckon you never played sports a day in your—"

"Irk didn't tell you you could speak!" Irk roared. The gun fell from the ceiling, and Irk hopped back, lifting the now-unstable plasma ball into the air with one hand. He hurled it at Rhomboid right as it exploded, scorching his white Plumbers' armor. "Slam dunk!"

Rhomboid sighed, the extraordinarily resilient Vreedle little more than singed. He laid on the floor for some time, staring at the ceiling. Octagon covered a smile, reading through a dictionary with the same intensity a comic-book nerd would give a superhero story. Irk growled quietly, shuffling to the lab at the back, and pulled out a tray of non-Newtonian fluid. It was his stress toy.

Finally, Sebontes looked up and pointed at Rom, then to the door. The message was clear; class could wait. The Magister couldn't.

Rom emerged from the classroom and was surprised to see two Plumber escorts waiting for him. The insensitive Petrosapien man he'd met when he'd first arrived on the Manifest nodded to him, a shotgun slung over his shoulders. On his left side was a chicken-like humanoid, whose stomach grumbled as he clawed at his holster nervously.

"Come on, kid. We've got a lot to talk about."


End file.
